Détente
by TortiQuercu
Summary: It's not really a surprise to Gaby that, once she's on a train, her best option is to jump off of it, and that once she has Illya right where she wants him, there is no furniture around to break. One shot, mission fic.


At the time, swallowing the stolen diamonds had seemed like a very clever idea, Gaby recalled darkly. Now, hunched down against the railing between the cars of a speeding locomotive, she was having not her first sense of regret.

Standing above her, Solo pumped a shot off his pistol at a figure approaching from the next car. Gaby glanced up through the glass by instinct. Illya, currently pressed against her side, snarled and roughly pushed on the top of her head.

"Stay down," he snapped. "You'll do us no good if you get shot."

"You just don't want any bullet holes in this Ossie Clark," retorted Gaby, plucking at her flamboyant pantsuit.

"Admit it, Gabs," Solo chimed in as he fired another round into the train. "It does do rather spectacular things to your legs. Peril has a good eye, I'll give him that."

Illya gave a grunt of agreement. He glanced out over the tracks just in time to catch a signpost whip past. "We're about two kilometres from crossing the Vaal," he announced, his Russian accent thick under pressure.

Gaby furrowed her brow in confusion. "What, the river?" she asked.

The men were sharing a serious look and ignoring her. "Right, then," Solo nodded. "I'll keep our friends busy, then, shall I?"

Illya hesitated, earning a surprised glance from the woman beside him. "You… you are the better swimmer, Solo," his tone was grudging. "But….I…" he trailed off.

At this, even Solo looked down at the Russian with a bemused expression. "Your soft touch is required, is it? I thought as much. You go."

A beat later, Gaby clued into what they were saying.

"Hang on a minute," she protested suddenly. "Swimmer? The river? You are both mad. It's a trestle bridge, we'll kill ourselves just trying to get off it…" several gunshots interrupted her, and she squeaked as Illya shoved her head further down again.

"You need to get off this train _now_ , Gaby," Solo insisted. "Kuryakin?"

The Russian's blue eyes were piercing. "We will be fine. I will protect her. Find us in Johannesburg."

Gaby rounded on him with fire in her eyes. "Like _hell_ are we jumping off this train, Illya…."

"You, my little mechanic, are carrying nearly 15 thousand pounds sterling worth of diamonds along with your dinner," he interjected, his voice clipped and slow. You would like to wait for Slatger's goons to cut them out of you, perhaps? Or would you like to join me for a swim?"

Solo laughed in a short burst. At that moment, one of the aforementioned goons tried to open the door of the train car behind them. Solo grabbed the door and snapped it forcefully shut on the man's hand. Simultaneously, the train began to clatter over the dry wooden trestles of the Vaal River bridge.

"Time to go, my Iron Curtain comrades," Solo sang as he opened and re-slammed the door on their howling would-be assailant. "Good luck!"

Illya unfolded himself to his full height, and fired several cover shots into the opposite train car before pulling Gaby to her feet.

Gaby tamped down her rising fear. "Okay, we go together?" She held out her hand, and Illya twined her fingers through his.

" _Da._ Go," he replied confidently. Together, they flung themselves off the train.

Down, down, down, they sank. The shock of the churning cold water gave way to the curiosity that it hadn't hit her like the ton of bricks she was expecting. That is what eventually led Gaby to notice that Illya had wrapped himself around her like a security blanket during their fall, a wet blanket that was now slowly dragging her to the bottom of the river. He was dazed, she realized, or possibly unconscious. Gritting her teeth in determination, she kicked with every bit of force she could muster and sluggishly propelled them back up towards the sky.

Her lungs were burning when she erupted through the water's surface. She struggled to get Illya's face above water, gasping with the effort as she maneuvered him onto his back. She splashed around awkwardly, an arm around Illya's chest, and caught flashes of the river bank as they swept downstream. Her last remaining strength was sufficient to swim towards it. Just as Gaby worried her efforts were hopeless, the river current swung them into an eddy and they bobbed softly towards the muddy bank. Her frozen fingers lost purchase on Illya's pea coat and he washed up against a fallen tree trunk. The collision caused him to moan slightly. Relieved, Gaby closed her eyes.

Alive.

They were alive.

The smell of smoke is what woke her. Confused, she open her eyes and found herself gazing, somewhat blurrily, into a camp fire. It was now dark past the reach of the fire, the smoke curling up into the night sky.

Gaby pulled herself up to sitting. Her suit was still damp against her skin yet she was not impossibly cold. She looked down and found herself, to her surprise, ensconced in Illya's button-down linen shirt. It was expensive cotton, mostly dry and smelled like him: of old paper, vetiver-rich French cologne, warm wool and a musky spice she thought might be in his shaving cream. She inhaled deeply and moaned aloud, pangs of longing stabbing inconveniently at the bottom of her stomach.

"Gabriella?" Illya's voice floated towards her with concern. "Are you all right?" With the cracking of twigs, he stepped out of the darkness beside her. Shirtless. Of course he was shirtless, she was wearing his shirt. She stared, somewhat slack-jawed, at the immense expanse of his muscled torso. The torso crouched down in front of her. She blinked at it. Oh my.

"Gaby?"

"Hmmmm?" she murmured inquisitively, feeling rather fuzzy and hot.

He lifted a hand, warm and steady, up to her face. He checked her forehead and ran a thumb down the side of her cheek, eliciting a ferocious tremble from her body. "You have fever," he pronounced in concern, his accent thick. "Hot but shivering."

"Oh, is that what it is?" she asked innocently. "Oh, thank goodness. I thought it was your shirt!"

"My… shirt," he repeated. His hand was now tangled in her luscious, thick hair, beside her face.

"Yes, it… it's a lovely shirt," she smiled weakly. "Thank you. It smells absolutely delicious. You must be so cold." Unable to resist, she reached out and pressed her palm to his chest. His flesh was warm and flashed with heat under her touch. "…..Oh. Or… I guess… not."

"Gabriella," he said again and his voice was gravelly. He withdrew his hand, no longer so steady. He cleared his throat. "Are you feeling okay? You passed out on the river bank, after saving us. Gaby, you saved us."

"Oh, that's right, good for me." she smiled. A small part of her brain wondered why she was having so much trouble thinking clearly. Maybe Illya was right and she was sick. Her fingers on his chest twitched, and she thought she heard his breath hitch. _Wait a minute_ _…_ _._

"Hang on, I don't think I _am_ sick," she concluded, trying to shake the fog from her mind. Gaby snatched her hand back and began to unbutton the cursedly wonderful shirt. "You should put this back on," she rushed. "You'll get cold. I'll be okay. Put this back on."

Her fingers stumbled at the buttons, Illya reached out slowly to stop her. "I'm fine," he assured her. "Keep it on. Is physiological fact, women get cold more easily… please."

Gaby couldn't stop her eyes from lowering to his torso again, tracing the lines of his abdomen almost by accident. Her throat tightened. "Uhhhh… um." She licked her lips. Was she licking her lips? She exhaled deeply and it felt like she was breathing fire.

From the look on his face, he must have felt the heat. His brow furrowed. "I am sure you have fever," he insisted. "We will stay here tonight, but we move as soon as the light returns. You rest. If you are still sick in the morning, I will carry you."

She looked at him incredulously. So earnest. She didn't know whether to laugh in his face, or kiss him. Well… actually, she was pretty sure….

"Gaby."

"Hmmmm?"

He shook his head, a quiet chuckle emerging. "Nothing. You keep staring at me strangely. It's almost like…. well. Fever."

She inched forward onto her knees, startling him. "I don't have a fever, Illya. I got a little disoriented in the water, but I'm fine. Here, feel…. cold as ice."

She grabbed his hand and moved it to her arm. Slowly, he closed his fingers around her forearm. He grimaced, she was truly near frozen.

Illya swore mightily in Russian. "You are going to freeze to death," he complained. "I don't understand you. How can you be so strong yet so fragile at the same time? You defy logic." He began tugging her towards him.

"Whoa, whoa," she panicked, placing her hands on his naked chest in protest before realizing that might be a stupendously bad idea. She could feel his heart pounding under her fingertips and it took all her willpower not to launch herself at him. "Illya, stop."

"You are cold," he growled at her. "I will warm you."

The noise she made in response shot straight to his gut, and he dropped her arm in shock. Embarrassed now, he risked a glance at her. "You are making that face again," he protested.

"What face?"

"I don't know, like you… like you want to…." he trailed off.

"Kiss you," she whispered.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes piercing hers. "What?"

"I want to kiss you," she murmured softly.

He made no response. She listened to them both, breathing heavily, for several moments, before gathering the courage to speak.

"Illya," her voice was scarcely audible. "May I kiss you?"

She watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat. Slowly, he nodded.

Cautiously, she crawled forward, pressing herself between his knees as she dragged her hands up his chest and threaded them around the back of his neck. She leaned into him, lifting her lips up towards his…. and waited.

….. no one burst in. No untimely interruption, no sudden withdrawal. She tilted her head to the side, listening carefully… there was no noise but the crackle of the fire and the nearby thrum of the river. Tentatively, she pressed her lips against his.

He was tender and warm. She kissed him gently, as though he might startle, and thrilled as he stifled a moan. She drew his lower lip into her mouth and gave it a soft bite. His whole body jerked, and she pulled away with a smirk.

"Sorry," she crooned. "Can't help it. I mentioned that you smell delicious, didn't I?"

A smile crept onto her face, only to be overpowered almost immediately as Illya came crashing back down onto her. If her kiss had been a taste, he was now devouring her. His hands whipped around her slender waist, almost bruising, almost crushing. She groaned in response and thrust her hands up into his short, damp hair, scratching his scalp with her fingernails until he shuddered.

The noises they were both making now were base and primal, and they set Gaby on fire. She briefly pulled away, with the intention of throwing his broad, naked chest down beside the fire and attacking it with her tongue. Before she had the chance, though, he caught both of her wrists and held her fast. She looked at him questioningly as he panted.

Slowly, he shook his head. "I…. Gabriella, no. I am supposed to protect you, not…. not ravish you."

She rolled her eyes. "Why can't you do both?"

"I am serious."

"Fine, then. _I_ _'_ _ll_ do the ravishing. You just… sit there." She tried to tug her arms free, but he didn't let them go. She noticed that it made his pupils widen even further, though, and he inhaled sharply. "You like your women strong, you said," she purred, twisting her wrists. "Do you want to test how strong I am?"

He growled at her. "You asked for a kiss. This is no longer a kiss."

"I am greedy," she agreed.

He smirked, giving her wrists a brisk tug. "Says the girl with a belly full of diamonds. Yes, little chop shop girl. You are very greedy. But I think your eyes might be bigger than your stomach."

She gave him a rich laugh in response. "You think you are more than I can handle, Kuryakin?"

His eyes narrowed. "Gabriella, don't test me," he warned. "There is no bell boy to stop us out here, no Solo lurking around the corner…"

"Yes, good!" she exclaimed emphatically.

"No vases to smash or mirrors to crack," he continued, his eyes flashing. "No furniture to break!"

With one sharp pull, she broke her arms free from his grasp. "Ahh, so that's what you are afraid of," she exulted. "Breaking me."

He balled his hands into fists. "I would not forgive myself," he admitted through ground teeth. "I will not take that risk here, now. That is final."

Gaby did not restrain her howl of frustration. She spun away from him and stared angrily at the fire, her arms crossed tight across her body as though she might fly apart.

"Gaby…."

"I am no Tudor lily, you know," she barked at him.

He frowned. "Tudor rose, isn't it?"

"Whatever!"

"That is... odd misconception, from a woman who works for the British…."

"Shut up, Illya," she pouted. After a few moments, she looked back at him, only to see him grinning broadly. It made her stomach do flips. Disgusting, this effect he had on her. "Go put your coat on," she snapped.

"It's still wet!"

"Too bad for you, do it anyway. It will stop you from sitting there, smirking, with your ridiculously muscled naked chest, unavailable for me to ravish!"

She refused to look at him again, but she could hear as he pulled his wool coat down off the branches it was hanging on. He also moved around the fire, re-arranging it and adding more wood. Moments later, he was wearing the coat and sliding back down to the ground, directly behind her. One large, slightly damp arm encircled her and tried to pull her back against him. Naturally, she resisted.

"Don't sulk, Gabriella," he murmured into her ear, pressing a soft kiss behind it. "It's cold and the ground is hard. Come here."

She grumbled at him, still as statue.

He chuckled into the back of her neck. "What if I promise you?"

She didn't move. "Promise me what?"

"That you _do_ set me on fire," he rumbled against her skin. "That once we get to the city and we can find another hotel room to demolish…."

"… yes? Go on." Some of the tension left her shoulders.

"That we will burn it to the ground with our passion, and I will brand you."

With a loud exhale, she finally leaned back against him and relaxed. "…. I will be your woman, then, you mean?"

His heart skipped a beat. "Yes."

She closed her eyes, satisfied. "Very well, then, Kuryakin. I will take you at your word. You've promised."

He wrapped his arms tightly around her. He stared at the fire and felt it echo somehow in his heart. "I do, I promise, little fighter. I promise." And he knew it would be true.


End file.
